American Republican And Baltimore Daily Clipper

[From the N. Y. Sunday Times.]

PITY THE POOR.

The winter-times are coming fast,
Pipes loud and shrill the autumn blast,
And leafless limbs are quivering,
And houseless ones are shivering
With your eye
You may spy
Naked feet
'Mid the sleet!
Then pity, oh! pity the poor,
Who stand in the cold at your door!

When your hearth fire blazeth brightly,
Even as it burneth nightly;
When you hear the wild winds chilly
Pipe their warnings loud and shrilly:
In the storm
See the form
Thin and pale;
Hear the wail
Of the suffering—list the cry,
"Help the poor! Help them, or they die!"

Clothed in rags so thin and scanty,
Live they in some cheerless shanty—
Doors unhung and windows open,
Roof all leaky, walls all broken;
There half dead
Without bread.
Hear the cry—
"Must we die?
Perish we in this great city.
None to save and none to pity?"

'Mid the snow and 'mid the hailing
Christians, hear the orphan's wailing!
Ye are bless'd with Heaven's plenty
While their fare is poor and scanty.
Loud the blast
Whistles past;
At your door
Stand the poor:
There are many in this city
Few to aid and few to pity